Sober
by x-the-rising-x
Summary: In her most desperate moment, she offers herself to him, and he gladly accepts. Along the way, he remembers. Oneshot. Jack/Kate. spoilers for "316"


**Title: **Sober (oneshot)

**Pairing: **Jack/Kate (Lost)

**Spoilers: **Up to "316"

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, including, unfortunately, Foxy's smoking hot bod.

**Rating: **R

**Sober**

They hit the bed, and her weight beneath him is a warm welcome. His intrepid fingers support her by the small of her back. This was where his hand used to linger, when their relationship was not so black and white – when they weren't just about broken proposals and emptied bottles and rattling pills – a quiet reminder of how long it took them. He remembers, following their touchdown on the mainland, six months of almost's and maybe's. Six months of tension filled hugs, of near kisses at his apartment before his father's funeral – her hands trembling as she did his tie, Aaron their unfortunate interruption.

These past few weeks, spent mainly in a drunken stupor, have been reminiscent of their first parting. Back then, intoxication wasn't the problem: Jack's stubbornness and inability to get past the infidelity of his father was the sole force tearing them apart. He remembers telling her he needed some time to think things over, her clutching the young child to her chest. He tries to forget the look of pain etched on her face.

Jack is ever captivated by the silkiness of her skin against his own. He glides his hands underneath her shirt, bringing them to rest atop on her stomach. Underneath him, Kate is crying, but he tries to pretend not to notice. _"Do you understand, Jack?" _she had asked him, and for once he had conceded. Firstly, the possibility, the _fear _of finding out what had happened to his nephew – his _son _– was so _crazy. _So _real. _

He doesn't push the issue for another reason. The superficiality of it disgusts him, but Jack has spent the past two weeks physically aching to be with her. It's the same kind of ache he remembers feeling on the island: waking up nightly in a cold sweat from dreams of her petite body hovered over him, her hot breath against his ear. Her lips, salty and wet from her tears, feel so good against his once again, and Jack realizes that he needs this just as much as she does.

Her tongue collides with his own in an almost violent manner. Jack remembers completely abandoning, after her trial, his refusal to see Aaron. There were those dinners with her and the blonde toddler in the beginning – her easy laughter and her tongue darting out to lick the chocolate ice cream off her lips. He remembers how things stayed platonic for barely a week before he through all caution to the wind and just went for it.

Her fingers tremble against his tie, and she yanks it off, throwing it to the floor where it lies forgotten. The desperation reminds him of their first time, only now, roles are reversed. Tonight, she kissed him first. But he remembers initiating it back then – pressing himself up against her back as she tended to the dishes. He remembers hearing her breath hitch in her throat, and wondering if she'd been with anyone since leaving the island. No, he most definitely thought, as she turned in his arms. He hadn't either. Their eyes met and he leaned his forehead against her in the moments before pressing his lips against hers. And though the kiss – his lips lingering over hers for only a few short moments before meeting her tongue with her own – was only their second, things had inevitably escalated.

He remembers ripping each other's clothes off right there by the kitchen sink, and thinking it was shocking – as she bit down on her lip and suppressed a moan as he entered her – that it had taken them this long. He remembers quieting her with his lips when they both came, as to not wake the toddler sleeping upstairs. He remembers how beautiful she looked. He remembers how natural it felt.

He remembers her smile, the morning after, as he childishly wondered if she ever smiled like that for Sawyer. He remembers the sun sneaking it's way in through the blinds, hitting her bare shoulders in the way it used to do on the island when she would wander around on the beach in a dirty tank top and jeans.

He remembers all of this and more. Memories swell and crash like the waves at the beach camp used to. Her eyes, dulled by a pain and cold heartache, seek salvation in his own – her small and nimble hands hurriedly undoing the buttons on his wrinkled dress shirt.

He used to pull this shirt off of her – back when she would steal it from his dresser drawer. He remembers those nights he would come home late, only to find her curled up on his side of the bed. He had wondered if he could ever love her more than he did in those moments – and remembers physically aching to be closer to her, even though she was a mere two feet away. He found, at these times, the only way to cure this pain was to wake her up. He did so gently, undoing the buttons as she does now, pressing kisses against her smooth and warm skin. He remembers her waking up slowly with a soft sigh, as she let him take her right then and there.

With the break-up – the terrible ripping apart of their relationship that had previously seemed to be too woven together to tear – came not only an empty apartment and lonely bed, but also this shirt. He wears it now, simply because, though it's been so long since it smelled like her (apple shampoo and lavender), he still likes to pretend that it does.

Kate's eyes tell him more than anyone's ever will. Back on the island, during treks through the jungle and dinners by the campfire, they often said more to each other in a look than they did in a conversation. The non-verbal connection they shared was so strong that he often tried to seek an explanation – how could soul mates meet so late in life?

Her eyes now, blank and desperate, tell him everything that she herself wouldn't. He grabs her face in his hands and forces her to look at him. She does – her lips parted and swollen, her eyes dark with want. He drops his head and begins to lay kisses along her cheekbones, as if his lips could make the tears disappear.

She's still undressing him, and it's only when he feels her small and warm hands make contact with his bare chest that he realizes he's shirtless. Jack takes hold of the hem of her shirt and the tank-top beneath it The cotton is smooth against his rough hands, and she lifts her arms above her head to allow him to slide the material off of her body. But before she can touch him again – before she can take control of the situation – he locks her arms into place at the head of the bed.

"Jack." Her voice cracks, and it's the first time either of them have spoken in minutes. He crouches over her, and her eyes plead with him to let her arms free, but he simply silences her with his lips. She sighs into his mouth, and he can feel her chest start to heave with her quick breaths.

It's never been like this, he thinks, as he breaks the kiss to lay his lips against her neck. It's been emotional, playful, serious, long, short, and everything in between. He had thought just minutes before that, their current estrangement would somehow make all of this impersonal and fast. He had thought that the foreplay would be non-existent, but he's missed her _so much, _and all he wants to do is kiss every square inch of her – envelop her in a comfort that will _somehow _take her pain away.

His lips travel south, and he kisses his way down between her breasts – the rounded mounds restricted by black lace. In seconds the bra off, and he brushes his fingers against her nipples delicately.

Kate lets out a moan and arches her back upwards. As he reaches her stomach with his kisses, her newly freed hands instinctively move to his hair. He lingers there, his lips pressed against her taut abdomen. Jack can remember Sunday mornings with her and Aaron – the small boy asleep in bed with them. He remembers sneaking his hand under her pajama shirt and bringing it to rest on her stomach. He remembers aching for another child – for a baby girl with her freckles and crazy brunette locks. He remembers considering, as Aaron stirred and Kate tickled the small boy, if he should ask her to go off birth control.

He left two weeks later, and remembers realizing that he never got a chance to bring it up.

He knows she had thought about it too.

Her hands massage his scalp, and there's something so intimate about this moment, his lips on her stomach, that part of him wants to stay like this all night.

The other part of him wants to screw her senseless.

It's moments like these, he thinks as his fingers dance below the waistband of her sweatpants and come to rest on her heated center, that make him wonder how he ever resisted her on the island.

She swallows and pulls him up to meet her lips again. Jack applies pressure with his fingers and then, ever so delicately, slips one inside – her warm and slick walls clenching around him.

"No…" she suppresses a moan and pushes his hand away. Jack, bewildered, pulls away, his lips lingering inches from her own. Through the darkness he can make out her tear-stained cheeks, and the fresh liquid beginning to form in her eyes. She starts to cry again, sobs wracking her body as she furiously fumbles with his belt. She pushes his dress pants down and tries to lift her head and kiss him again.

This time, it's Jack who pulls away. He knows what she's doing – she doesn't want the intimacy. She doesn't want to be held or touched in any manner that isn't purely carnal. The pain radiates off of her body, and Jack immediately feels ashamed for giving in in the first place – for taking advantage of her.

"Just do it, Jack," she breathes out, shutting her eyes and bottling up the tears.

"No, Kate." He tries to pull away but she holds on to him tightly, wiggling out of her sweats. "Not like this…"

"_Jack,_" she pleads, pulling off all remaining clothing until it is just the two of them, naked and vulnerable once again. "I need this. Please."

There is a long beat, a moment of silence in which the only sound reverberating off the walls is their heavy breathing. All the anger, pain, unspoken words, and fear, subsides and hangs quietly in the air. Kate runs her fingers across his cheek and whispers into his lips:

"I need _you._"

He breaks. Any semblance of composure shatters, and he gives in. They both crack open, and the utter vulnerability spills out over them as he pushes into her. Kate cries out, and Jack buries his face into her hair. It's been so long – _so long _– and it all hurts.

The pain and pleasure reach insurmountable limits. His world swirls around him, and being back inside of her is a greater intoxication than any alcohol has ever given him. "_Jack," _she repeats over and over again, like a chant playing across her lips. She wraps her legs around him, begging him more than once to take her deeper. _Deeper. _

He begins to think that he needs this just as much as her, and as his thrusts become faster, more desperate, he knows that the two of them, that _this, _will always be there.

They release at the same time – a breathless and loud tumble off the edge. And as he collapses on top of her – as she drags her shaking lips across his once more – he thinks that the two of them, in this moment, are more pure than they ever have been.

He remembers when she used to curl up next to him afterwards and run a small hand across his bare chest. He remembers their small talk about nothing in particular – throaty whispers just to hear the sound of each other's voiced before sleep took them.

Back then, it was never quiet. Now the silence envelops the room, suffocating him as he rolls off of her. She shuts her eyes and breathes out – a long, shaky breath – as she buries her head into the side of the pillow. The tears are still prevalent on her face, and Jack feels that familiar sense of shame from earlier. All he wants to do is kiss her and whisper to her that it was okay, that he would keep her safe, but he knows she wouldn't let him.

Besides, they both know the notion that _everything is going to be okay_ is bullshit. He only wishes it were true.

Instead of speaking, because all words would fall flat in this moment, or kissing her again, because he knows that once again he wouldn't be able to stop, he wraps himself around her. At first, she flinches. He knows that she wants _so badly _to resist him – to resist the human contact. But he can feel the exhaustion radiating from her skin – _knows _that both of them sleep so much better when near the other. So she doesn't fight it. She lets him press his lips into her hair and lay a hand across her bare stomach.

They lie like that for minutes. He notices the ticking sound of his alarm clock, and realizes that it's past 1 a.m. Kate's breathing evens, and Jack assumes she's fallen asleep.

"I love you," he whispers into to the skin of her neck, not expecting an answer at all. But then Kate shifts and speaks out in a cracked voice:

"I know."


End file.
